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and also, if the truth be known, from job to job.

"That's no excuse," insisted the boss. "Oh, I don't know what to make of you young men nowadays. Here all the lunch-time trade is crowding in and Leslie is home sick and—"

"Who? The new soda jerker?" asked Speedy.

"I do wish you wouldn't use such a vulgar term," chided Smythe. "I want my fountain attendants known as soda dispensers."

"Well, how about me for a soda suspender then, boss?" suggested the smiling Speedy. "I'll take Leslie's place. I've watched those lads back there and I can mix with the best of them. This isn't the first time I've asked you for a chance to break into the big time sundae slinging, you know."

"Don't I though!" lamented Smythe. "You're always annoying me. Well, dear, dear, this is an emergency and I'll have to take you. Go back in the wardrobe and change into Leslie's uniform. Your own is very dirty. You must have been rolling around in the streets with it. And please stop that eternal whistling!"

Speedy obediently unpuckered his lips and walked briskly into a neat little back room. He was elated. His chance to make a name for himself in the soda world had arrived.

Three white uniforms, with Smythe's Sweets Shoppe sewed in thin red script on the front of the cap and on the left chest of the coat, hung in a neat soldierly line on hooks against the white wall.

Everything about Smythe's Sweets Shoppe, from